Of Rockstars & Revenge
by trinchardin
Summary: [AU, Sparrington] In the rock world, there is only one clean way to settle bad blood - battle of the bands. [COMPLETE]
1. Prologue to Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** Rock & slash aside, they're owned by the Mouse.

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**Prologue**

Detective Norrington looked with distate at the wrecked hotel room. Rockstars, he scoffed in his mind. He'd been called in to investigate the death of bassist Bootstrap Bill. The man had been a member of a known rock band, the _Black Buccaneers_. Apparently, he'd been intoxicated and fallen off the penthouse balcony. The blood splattered all over the asphalt was too tainted to check for an alcohol level, so all Norrington had to go on was the testimonies of those present. Considering the stories went along too smoothly for witnesses who were either drunk or drugged up... The detective was dubious of the whole affair.

The most sober person was the back-up guitarist, a man going by the name of Barbossa. Slick character that one, clearly had the others in control. They wouldn't say anything except to confirm what he said. The second bassist, Twigg, was lounging in a chair, while the drummer Koehler sat on its armrest, beating time with his drumsticks. A dark-skinned bodyguard with an Asian-sounding name leaned against the wall behind Barbossa's seat, his face unreadable. Norrington was sure that none of them would crack even in separate interviews. Maybe the two roadies would, but Pintel and Ragetti were too blitzed to even talk coherently.

"What about your main guitarist?" Norrington asked Barbossa. "Where is he?"

The other man gave him a shark-like grin.

"Oh, he's no longer part of the band," was the answer. "Jack lost his Pearl at poker. Pretty cut up about that, so he quit." The man laughed unpleasantly, soon joined by the others. "Anyway, he left before Billy took a dive. He's probably passed out drunk at some bar."

Their story sounded more and more fishy by the second. Clearly, the band wasn't sad to see their front-man leave. In fact, it seemed like a hostile takeover. The detective wouldn't have been surprised if the man who'd died had voiced his disapproval and gotten shoved over the railings for his trouble. Bo'sun, the bodyguard, seemed more than capable of doing that. Not that Norrington could prove any of it. He had no choice but to chalk up the incident as an accidental death, but he was definitely going to keep an eye on this band from then on.

**Chapter 1**

_Years later..._

Norrington waited beside the idling car for his charge to get out of school. He'd just recently left the force and become a bodyguard. His first client was a man named Swann, some big-shot in showbiz. In any case, it was the man's daughter that Norrington had to protect. Lizzy Swann might have seemed like a piece of peroxide fluff, but he knew better. There was an uncanny glint to her contact-blue eyes that spoke of street smarts. He wouldn't have recognized it if he hadn't worked the precinct and booked girls who should still be in school. The difference with Lizzy was that she had a class even her father's money couldn't buy. It spoke of Catholic school girls and her mother's old money upbringing.

After the woman in question had passed away in childbirth - a cherub memorial next to her own - Swann had buried himself in his work, while his daughter had gone wild. Clubs and celebrity bashes were the breeding ground of scandal and ruined reputations, yet Lizzy managed to emerge each time as an ingenue. Still, let it not be said that Swann was completely oblivious - or uncaring - of his daughter's lifestyle. Enter Norrington.

As of late, Lizzy had hooked up with a struggling artist. A bassist by the name of Turner - "Just Turner, thank you." Hah. Indeed. Well, in fairness, the boy seemed to be truly infatuated with Norrington's starlet client, seeming to be so innocent as to be unaware of the contacts he might tap out of her. Whenever they were at a party, he was so caught up in fetching her drinks that he just nodded half-heartedly to whoever she introduced to him. Clearly, he was not made for this sort of life as she was. But, as tightly wound he was around her finger, Norrington wasn't blind to how she clung to him also. He was a steadying influence on her as well. Thus, the tolerance for the young man's presence.

What truly intrigued Norrington though was his familiarity of the boy. Just to prove that everything in life went in circular motion, he recognized in Turner the focus of an old case. Apparently, he was the son of the bassist who had died under suspicious circumstances years past. The latest news was that the dead man's former band was on the rocks. They lacked the charisma that their old front-man had. In a last attempt to salvage their careers, they'd joined a battle of the bands sponsored by an international rock magazine.

Speaking of which, the pup was whining about it to his lady love. They'd joined him scant seconds ago, and together tumbled into the backseat, while Norrington shut the door after them and went around to slip behind the wheel.

"It'll be a chance in a life-time! All the best are playing! I can just imagine it'll be like...like...Rock Shangri-La!"

Norrington restrained himself from snorting. Lizzy just laughed.

"I'm sure it will be just that, love."

"But, I don't even have a band yet."

At that, Turner's spirits visibly fell.

"I'll talk to Daddy," Lizzy said casually. "Maybe he can fix you up with a band in need of a bassist. It'll be fine. Don't you worry."

The way Turner looked at her was enough to make Norrington gag.

"I love you, you know that?" He said in a soft, tremulous voice.

Norrington had never been so glad as to see the iron-wrought gates of the Swann estate. Upon reaching the front porch, he left the car in the care of an attendant and followed the two into the mansion. With her usual impatience, Lizzy headed straight for her father's study. Leaving Turner with Norrington, she shut the door behind her, closing off all sound from within. As soon as she was gone, Turner started to fidget, tinkering with pieces older than his great-grandparents and probably costing more than the boat they had arrived on. When a 17th-century pirate saber came off its hooks at his fiddling, Norrington moved to catch it before it could do any damage. Surprisingly though, Turner neatly caught it with a grace normally absent from his gawky body.

"I took sword lessons at a dojo."

He smiled sheepishly at the storm-faced bodyguard. But, before Norrington could reply, Swann and his daughter came out of the study.

**Chapter 2**

Swann said he'd see what he could do. A safe diplomatic answer. Although Lizzy did pout, he held firm and said it would have to wait until after that night's fancy-dress party was over. Lizzy herself would be busy as lady of the house. She chose her battles well and let this one pass for the moment.

While father and daughter later mingled with their masquerade guests, Turner trailed obediently after the latter. Norrington, on the other hand, walked the floor and kept a sharp eye out for any disturbance. As he was doing his rounds past the closed-off area, he overheard an argument. Stepping into the room, he first caught sight of two members of the security team, Murtogg and Mullroy. Loyal and well-meaning as they were, neither were the brightest crayons in the box. As it was, they seemed to be on the losing end of a lively debate with a colorful character. Only when he'd fully entered did Norrington see the other just as he delivered a lovely riposte.

"Unless, of course, he knew you wouldn't believe the truth even if he told it to you."

"So, you speak the truth then?" He noted dryly as he entered.

The pirate-garbed stranger did not seem startled at Norrington's unexpected appearance. Instead, he smiled charmingly and sashayed his way over to invade the man's personal space with his face and toothy gold-capped grin.

"But, of course! Is this a face that would lie to you?"

A hand gestured to an angelic smile. Norrington smirked.

"Yes."

"Oh! That hurt." A theatric wince and hand went to the heart.

"If you'll hand that over..."

Without waiting for affirmation, Norrington took the guitar the other had been cradling close with his free hand. Only the bodyguard's trained eye for detail noticed the empty spot in the music room. It wouldn't have been noticed missing by anyone else until the house help cleaned the next day. Too late then. Yet, as if not a bit shamed, the other man just looked longingly at the instrument with the face of a kicked puppy. Norrington had to refrain from rolling his eyes.

"And so, who do I have the dubious pleasure of meeting?"

He handed out his hand and as the other warily offered his own, Norrington caught sight of the bird tattooed on his arm.

"Well, well...Jack Sparrow, isn't it?"

"Captain Jack Sparrow, if you please."

"Well, I don't see a guitar or band...Captain."

"I'm in the market as it were."

"He said he'd come to commandeer a guitar, sir."

Murtogg piped up helpfully. Norrington arched an eyebrow at the news, while Mullroy continued.

"Told ya he was telling the truth," said to Murtogg. "These are his, sir."

Norrington gave a withering look at the guitar pick and slider given to him.

"Been playing an air guitar? You are, without doubt, the worst musician I've ever heard of."

"But, you have heard of me." Sparrow waved a finger in his face with a grin.

This time, Norrington did roll his eyes.

"Any excuses then before I hand you over to the local police for theft?"

"I'm here to see Mr. Swann, I am." The man crossed his arms and smirked.

"Is that so?"

"I don't believe you're in my schedule, but I believe I can fit you in."

Sparrow gritted his teeth in an forced grin as Swann himself stepped into the room with an amused expression. While Murtogg and Mullroy were dismissed, Norrington kept a sharp eye on the Sparrow, who seemed ready to take flight at any given opportunity. He came behind the man and forced him to take a seat as his employer did the same. Swann let the musician settle in his seat before he spoke.

"Captain Jack Sparrow, is it not?"

"That would be me." Another charming grin, more confident now.

"Well, I have a proposition for you."

**Chapter 3**

"A proposition, you say?"

An eyebrow arched in interest.

"Indeed."

Swann leaned back in his chair and lit up a Cuban cigar with the confident smile of a good negotiator.

"And the terms of this proposition?"

"You need a guitar and band to enter into Rock Virtuoso's competition. I'm willing to fund you in exchange for some small favors."

"How small?" Sparrow's eyes narrowed.

"I chose your bassist, and where the band goes so does my daughter and her guards." Norrington grimaced. "And of course, I'd expect a cut of the prize money if you were to win the contest."

"Is that all?"

"For now, yes."

"Those aren't very nice terms to offer - "

"Even to a desperate man?" Swann smiled.

"I wouldn't say I was desperate now."

The guitarist shook his finger at the other, who simply shrugged.

"Take it or leave it, Mr. Sparrow. I have other options. You, on the other hand..."

After a brief pause, the man replied in a wheedling, put-upon tone.

"Weeeeell, I don't mind you daughter and her entourage..." An eye at the glaring Norrington. "But, as to the bassist...I pick my own crew, or I might as well not join. I do fancy on winning. Which brings us to the money - I don't plan on sharing anything more than 10."

"50."

"15."

"30."

"20."

"25, last offer."

Sparrow sniffed.

"Deal. ...And what about the bassist?"

"I think you'll like who I've picked."

The kohl-rimmed eyes narrowed once more.

"Would you like another Turner in your band, Mr. Sparrow?"

At this, the musician's eyes widened momentarily in clear shock. He soon recovered his composure though and managed to casually shrug at Swann.

"Well, in that case, I think we have an accord."

He held out his hand and Swann shook it in turn.


	2. Chapter 4 to 6

**Disclaimer:** Rock & slash aside, they're owned by the Mouse.

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**Chapter 4**

Besides a piercing look during their introduction, Sparrow made no comment on Turner's parentage. The youth himself seemed unaware that his late father had also been a musician, having been raised single-handedly by his mother. In any case, he clearly idolized the former rock icon and hung on every word the other said, a fact that amused the guitarist to no end. As for Lizzy, she was thrilled at being included in the band's crew, and insisted on coming along for the recruitment of the others. It was a point that neither Sparrow, Swann, or Norrington were pleased about. However, she didn't give them any choice in the matter. Though not one to throw fits or tantrums, she had a sly way of getting what she wanted. They thought it wise to just agree, rather than finding out that she'd followed them and gotten into trouble.

At the moment, they were dressed down and squeezed in Sparrow's dilapidated van. It was a miracle that the vehicle even held together while parked, or so Norrington thought in disgust. He'd claimed shotgun next to the guitarist, while his colleagues, Gilette and Groves took center. Squeezed blissfully in the back were the young couple. As they drove deeper into the less savory parts of town, Norrington's scowl grew along with Sparrow's grin. It was with a sour face that he stepped out of the van and followed Sparrow into a bar. The sign was just hanging on, gaping neon glyphs blinked out the name _Tortuga_. A whiff of what could only be dead rodent and piss greeted their arrival, causing Norrington's nose to twitch.

Thankfully, Lizzy was silent. With little trouble, the group found an empty table at the back, though it looked like it hadn't seen a clean rag since the last decade. Majority wisely decided not to order drinks. Sparrow cheerfully swallowed the pig's swill served, while Turner looked warily into the murky depths of his untouched whiskey sour. After sitting in the eye of the storm for a good fifteen minutes, Norrington finally spoke up.

"So, where is the man you're supposed to meet?"

"Oh, he'll be along in due time."

"Like within the day?" Norrington snapped at him.

Sparrow just waved his hand unconcernedly, eyes on the crowd. His eyes brightened for a moment at the sight of a woman approaching them. Norrington withdrew at the strong scent of cheap perfume and liquor, but Sparrow leant forward only to meet with the open palm of the lady's - if she could be called that - hand. He choked back his aborted cry of 'Scarlet' and fell back in his seat.

"Not sure if I deserved that."

Then, he started to rise again.

"Giselle!"

"Who was she?"

"What?"

He was met with another sound slap. Shaking his head at the second blow, he retreated once more to his seat.

"I may have deserved that," he admitted ruefully.

Just as Norrington was about to lose his patience, a stout man plopped down on the empty seat next to Sparrow and warily eyed them.

"Now, who's all this?"

"Ballast," was the cryptic reply. "Lady and gents, this be Gibbs."

**Chapter 5**

Lizzy had her long legs tucked underneath as she curled up in sleep. At her side on the loveseat was a drowsy Turner, and behind them, Gilette kept watch. The redhead's back was to a wall of the dingy apartment Gibbs called home. He muttered some choice curses in his mother's native tongue as a rodent scurried at his feet.

Groves, on the other hand, stood at attention behind his superior and Sparrow. The trio watched as Gibbs presented the rag-tag team that was to serve as roadies and stagehands.

"So, this is your able-bodied crew?" Norrington noted dryly.

"Appearances can be a misgiving - "

"Misleading," the other hissed at him through gritted teeth.

"Yes, yes... You, you over there!"

"That would be Cotton," said Gibbs.

"Mr. Cotton," Sparrow continued, "do you have the courage and fortitude to follow orders and stay true in the face of danger and almost certain death? Mr. Cotton! Answer, man!"

Groves choked back a laugh as Gibbs spoke up again.

"He's a mute, sir. Poor devil had his tongue cut out, so he trained the parrot to talk for him. No one's yet figured how..."

"Mr. Cotton's...parrot. Same question."

"Rock and roll! Rock and roll!"

"Mostly, we figure, that means 'yes'."

"Of course, it does." Sparrow smirked at Norrington. "Satisfied?"

"Well, you've proved them mad," the man replied sardonically.

"And what's the benefit for us?" Another of the 'crew' asked.

Sparrow's ever-gesturing hands twitched sporadically and a painfully wide grin stretched on his face. He pulled off the newsboy cap on the person in question, and dark locks cascaded to curtain smooth caramel skin.

"Ah, my dear An - "

A slap greeted him.

"I suppose you didn't deserve that either," Norrington said, amusement ill-concealed.

"No, that one I deserved."

The woman nodded furiously.

"You stole my money!"

"Actually..." Another sound slap. "...borrowed, borrowed without permission. But, with every intention of paying you back."

"But, you didn't!"

"I will!"

She jabbed his chest with a sharp manicured nail.

"I will."

"With interest," Norrington chimed in.

"With interest!" Sparrow hastily agreed.

"Part of the prize money," Norrington continued, smirking.

"What money? That money?! Aye! That money. What say you?"

"Aye!" The woman led the cry of the crew.

"No, no, no, no, no, it's frightful bad luck to bring a woman aboard," Gibbs protested.

"It'd be far worse not to, however," Sparrow said regretfully with a shrug of shoulders.

"Besides," he added as an afterthought, "we need a PR rep. And you won't find a better cutt-throat agent better than Anamaria."

**Chapter 6**

As rock music went, Norrington had to admit that Sparrow was good, not as grating to the ear as he expected. Cradling a Swann-loaned guitar and crooning an angst-laced love song, it was clear that the man was in his element. After a few nervous, clumsy starts, Turner was drawn in as well, whereas Gibbs apparently had played drums for Sparrow before.

It was just a few months before the competition, but Sparrow didn't seem the least worried about having three or so songs ready. Only after Turner gave voice to his worry did the lead admit he had some songs written up. Clearly, he was one to hold his cards close. Norrington didn't blame him, knowing what had happened with the man's previous group. After jamming for awhile, they were now playing the song Jack called _Dark Lady_, an allusion to the Pearl from the sound of it.

Stepping out onto the terrace, Norrington looked down from the apartment Swann had rented for the band's benefit. It came with a soundproof room for practice, and beds or couches for everyone. Not a penthouse, but Sparrow didn't seem to care. He'd probably sleep on a garage floor as long as he had a guitar and a place to play at. Norrington lit up the cigarette that Anamaria held out to him, shaking his head at her offer of another. He didn't believe in vices or addictions, be it smoking, drugs, drink, or plain debauchery. A side-effect of his days on the force.

Watching the city lights, he and Anamaria stood in silence for a moment. Then, the woman turned to look at him from where she leaned against the cool metal railing.

"So, what are you here for?"

Norrington nodded back into the glass-closed room. Fast asleep under Turner's jacket was Lizzy, Gilette nearby.

"Ah, Turner's lady."

"Indeed."

"Stiff Brit prick."

The woman's amused smile dulled the edge of the comment, full lips then taking another drag.

"And you? Is it really just the money?"

"Hah," she snorted. "I guess you could say I love this life. Never knew anything else really. Grew up on the streets, aimed high with rock and roll, rose, fell... Don't know the meaning of giving up, so here I am."

"You go back a long way with Sparrow?"

"Suppose you could say so...though I doubt anyone really knows him. He definitely isn't the same hotshot I used to watch from afar. That was back when he was running the Buccaneers. Things were different then."

"He tell you what happened?"

"Jack tells no one anything."

Her laugh was jagged with underlying emotion this time. She'd felt more for Sparrow then she'd admit. There was history there. Norrington could tell from the way she looked at the guitarist at times. But, he also noticed that whatever it was for Sparrow it was long over.

"What were they playing inside?"

"Dark Lady."

"Ah." A sound full of meaning.

She wished it was about her, he could tell. But, Sparrow was not a man to love one alone. To hold him to that was to lose him. He was just too in love with his music, all centered on his lost Pearl. How could one compete with that? Anamaria had obviously given up though some feelings might linger. Her dark eyes gleamed with the city's neon as she turned back, the sound of Sparrow's own cigarette-roughened voice cutting through the glass.

He was still singing as he stepped into the living room.

"Dark Lady, who holds you now?  
Fickle you are with your favors.  
Taunt me with whispered sweet nothings 'Cause that's all you've got to give..."


	3. Chapters 7 to 9

**Disclaimer:** Rock & slash aside, they're owned by the Mouse.

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**Chapter 7**

After they'd perfected the first song to Sparrow's satisfaction, he insisted that they celebrate. However, at his announcement, he had Anamaria at one side arguing deadlines and Norrington on the other speaking of safety percautions. Backing away from them, the guitarist waved vaguely about and hastily settled for a party in the apartment.

"I'll even play the next song for entertainment, luv!" He told Anamaria.

The mocha-skinned woman smirked, content, even as Norrington started to discuss procedure with his subordinates. Behind him on the couch, Lizzy was already ringing up her favorite catering service.

"Order us rum, sweets!" Sparrow cooed. "No party complete without it!"

Some hours later, the enclosed space was a madhouse. Out on the terrace, a few people screamed with each success of a hit. Norrington fervently hoped none of the projectiles were fatal, or hit anyone out to sue. His charge was tucked away in the kitchen nook, attempting to make dessert, boyfriend and bodyguard hovering worriedly in the background. Groves, however, was in the thick of things, listening to Sparrow yammer on with an amused expression. Thankfully, he had not broken procedure and imbided anything, or he'd have to worry about more than a hangover the next morning.

Gibbs was seated on the loveseat opposite them, Anamaria at his side. The drummer was swigging the vile stuff Sparrow loved. His metal case was continually being refilled, each time hands shaking more and spilling more. Norrington wondered why the man didn't just drink it straight from the bottle. Their supposedly conscientious agent, on the other hand, was smoking something which was decidly not the cigarettes from earlier. Her eyes were half-lidded, full lips in a happy, lazy smile.

As usual, Norrington just watched from the edges, people going around and past him as if he wasn't even there. But, he didn't go completely unnoticed as minutes later, Sparrow invaded his personal space. Considering his occupation, Norrington was used to doing the same to his clients, but having the tables turned was more than a tad unsettling. He took a step back and coldly eyed the guitarist. The man reeked of rum and swayed dangerously in place. Yet, looking into those dark eyes, Norrington knew he wasn't drunk.

"Regular calm of the storm, aren't you, luv?" Sparrow grinned.

"Indeed."

"Indeed!" The other parroted back, laughing as if it was a joke.

It probably was to him. Norrington refrained from rolling his eyes.

"You're no fun, you know that?" Sparrow poked his side. "Great stick in the mud."

"Indeed." This time thickly laced with unmistakeable sarcasm. The other laughed.

"Hey, Jack! What happened to the song you promised?" Anamaria shouted.

"Alright, alright!" Sparrow raised his hands in mock-placation. "I'll play it."

"What's it called, Jack?" Gibbs asked with a loud burp.

"Dead Men Do Talk," was the reply, eyes suddenly sharp.

Without another word, he started to strum the intro.

"You thought I wouldn't know,  
Thought you could keep it from me.  
But, I'm onto you, you see Dead men do talk,  
They talk like you and me.

Blood spilt cries and - "

"Fire in the hole!" Turner cried.

A sudden flash of fire from the little nook accompanied his shout. A flour-spotted Lizzy stepped out minutes later into the living room's shocked silence. In her hands was a roaring blaze of burnt cake. Sparrow had put down his guitar by then and looked up distractedly, only to go back to poking through the drinks around the room. His muttering ceased only upon catching sight of the pile of bottles in the kitchen. Pointing at the pile, he spoke up.

"What happened to the rum?"

"Rum cake, anyone?" Lizzy asked brightly.

"You burned the rum?"

"Yes, the rum's gone."

"Why is the rum gone?"

"One, because it is a vile drink that doesn't taste nice. Two...two, I wanted to make cake."

"But, why is the rum gone!?" Sparrow continued to wail.

"You'll never hear the end of that," Anamaria laughed.

**Chapter 8**

The auditions for the contest were held in an old theater known as the Royal. They'd piled into Sparrow's decrepit van and those who couldn't fit rode with Anamaria. The place was teeming with activity when they arrived and after haphazardly parking the van, Sparrow joined right in. As he and Anamaria spoke to some old friends, Norrington kept a eye on his young charges.

Lizzy was chatting up some pseudo-celebrities who knew her father, while Turner just strummed nervously at his bass. Gibbs took up most of their sofa though, sneaking a sip of the strong stuff before their set. Groves and Gilette just hovered in the periphery as Norrington stood in the shadows of some dusty draperies. Stationed behind the seated trio, he had a good view of the door. So, he saw trouble as soon as it stepped in.

The years that had passed had not changed Barbossa and his crew much. If anything, they had a leaner look to them. They strode in with the bravado of those who thought too highly of themselves. Norrington caught the dark look that flashed in Sparrow's eyes and was already moving before he realized it. There was a subtle exchange with his two subordinates who moved closer to those on the sofa set. He, on the other hand, had come to stand next to Sparrow. He was just in time for Barbossa, who upon catching sight of the familiar head, swooped in decked in red velvet.

"Well, well, if it isn't our old Captain, boys."

"My, my," Sparrow mocked, "if it isn't back-stabbing, murdering, always-second-best Barbossa. Made any hits lately?"

The other man's eyes gleamed dangerously.

"Have _you_?"

The dark orbs flitted across Sparrow's companions and narrowed when they fell on Norrington.

"Detective Norrington, what a pleasant surprise. Are you here on unofficial business?"

"More like none of your business, Barbossa," he smoothly countered with a cool smile.

"Are you fucking him, like you were Bootstrap, Sparrow?" Barbossa smirked at his former bandmate.

Norrington caught no reaction from Sparrow about his being a former detective, but those expressive eyes did flare angrily at the mention of his old bassist. Behind them, Norrington heard Turner stand from his seat and push towards them at his father's name.

"What are you talking about?" He heatedly interjected.

"Well, if it isn't Bootstrap's boy all grown up," Barbossa noted, clearly caught off-guard though trying to hide it. "Isn't this just a regular family reunion?"

"Black Buccaneers! You're up!" A shout was heard from near the stage.

"Excuse me, I think that's _my_ band being called." Barbossa grinned toothily.

He left, the rest of the band trailing after him with Bo'sun throwing a last warning look at Norrington. The man just looked coolly back. When he turned his attention back to his companions, Turner was angrily confronting Sparrow about knowing Bootstrap.

"How could you not tell me about my father?"

Sparrow shrugged, unable to give an answer.

"And were you really sleeping with him?" Turner hissed. "Is that why he left my mother and me?"

At that, Sparrow's eyes darkened.

"I've done alot of stupid things, but I don't get in between a man and his wife. There's some things even I won't do. Your father loved you and your mother. As to why he left, his reasons were his own."

"...Were you ever going to tell me?"

Another shrug.

"Are we auditioning or not?" Sparrow asked flatly after a long silence.

Turner's knuckles were white, fingers tightly gripping his instrument.

"Ocean-Thief, you're up next!" A voice called out.

"Let's go." Turner finally grated out, still angry.

The youth turned on his heel, headed for the stage. Before Sparrow moved to follow, he looked sharply at Norrington.

"Later," Sparrow simply said.

Then, he was gone as well.

**Chapter 9**

The audition had gone surprisingly well, feeding on tension and the pure rush of performing. Lizzy collected Turner as soon as he stepped off-stage. The bottle-blonde apparently had a soft spot for Sparrow, something to do with a drinking contest at a bar one night. Or perhaps she'd simply wanted to make up for the burnt rum. In either case, it left Norrington to deal with an oddly subdued guitarist.

Once they'd reached the apartment, everyone immedidately went out again with Gilette and Groves trailing behind. While they celebrated their inclusion in the contest, Norrington was left to deal with the sullen Sparrow. Damage control, he grimaced to himself. Somehow he always seemed to be delegated such tasks. Now, how to handle an egocentric, eccentric musician in a mood...

The man in question was just lighting up a toke when Norrington joined him on the balcony. He'd get an earful when Anamaria returned.

"Didn't know you were into that," Norrington noted casually.

"Didn't know you were a detective," was the sardonic riposte.

"Was."

"Same difference," Sparrow said self-righteously.

"Not like you're the paragon for truth, Sparrow."

"I didn't lie, I abstained."

"Same difference." Norrington parroted with a smirk.

"Hmph."

The guitarist actually stuck out his tongue, mood apparently lightened. Considering the conversation over, Norrington leaned against the railing. But, he had to blink and actually backed away when the joint popped up in front of him.

"Wanna give it a go?"

"I'll pass," he said dryly.

"Hn...bad for you, right?"

Norrington warily watched as the man crushed the toke and tossed it over the ledge.

"She'll kill you."

"Ah, she'll forgive me," that accompanied by one of the man's most charming smiles.

The other was oddly disconcerted and looked away.

"So...didn't know you were into that," he echoed his earlier question.

Distracted, Sparrow also turned from him and frowned into his hands.

"I stopped after Bootstrap died."

"So what Barbossa said was true?"

"Was he...about us?" Sparrow made a bitter sound. "I wasn't lying to the boy. That's shit I wouldn't pull, and definitely not on a friend."

Norrington wondered still if there had been something unrequited there. He shrugged and let it go. There were some lines he didn't cross either.

"And how does Barbossa know you?" Sparrow asked pointedly, not allowing that tidbit to slide by either.

"I was called in to investigate Bootstrap's death."

"The ruling was accidental death. You believe that?"

"Dead men do talk," Norrington mimicked softly.

The sunset was blood red.


	4. Chapters 10 to 12

**Disclaimer:** Rock & slash aside, they're owned by the Mouse.

* * *

**Chapter 10**

Sparrow left for Tortuga soon after, while Norrington stayed behind to call in with his boss. Swann was attending a press junket somewhere in Europe, but had asked for a regular update as to how his daughter was. Sure, Lizzy spoke to him frequently, but Swann knew better than to leave things at that and asked for Norrington's side as well.

He'd just gotten off his mobile when it rang again.

"Norrington."

"Sir, I think you should come over here right now."

"What's the matter, Groves?" He asked in exasperation.

Not even an hour had passed and it seemed his charges had found trouble again.

"We wound up in an after-party for the audition, and Turner..."

"Turner what?" Norrington prodded the man, not the least amused.

"He got into a poker game with Barbossa."

"Let me guess, he's losing."

"Yes, sir...and well..."

"What did he bet, Groves?"

"Well, he'd been winning at first - "

_Of course, he'd been_, Norrington thought sardonically.

"So, he bet that he wouldn't perform."

"Bloody wonderful. And let me guess, they're still playing."

"Yes, sir."

"And Turner's still losing."

"Yes, sir."

"Has he thrown in Lizzy yet?"

"Uh..."

Norrington blinked. He'd been joking.

"Groves," he grated out, warningly.

"Well, he got her necklace. The one Turner had given her. Apparently, it belonged to his father. Some band memento."

"What's the address?" Norrington finally asked.

He quickly put it to memory and hung up. Grabbing his jacket, he headed for Tortuga. If anyone would know how to deal with Barbossa it would be Sparrow. He took a taxi and paid the cabbie enough to get him there in less time than usual. Coming up to the bar, he frowned to find Sparrow nowhere in sight.

"Was a Jack Sparrow here?" He shouted at the bartender over the noise.

"You mean the Captain?" The man had the daring to leer at Norrington.

"Yes," he gritted out in reply. "The Captain."

"He's in the back - "

Norrington didn't even wait for the man to finish. He expected Sparrow to be indulging his more promiscuous habits, so he was not surprise to find him in a dark corner. But, he was taken aback at seeing the guitarist the one backed up against the wall, and his companion not being one of the fairer sex. Of course, 'fair' was up to debate considering the fine features of the young man Sparrow was urging on. And he really should have known better, a small voice told Norrington, what with Sparrow's fey looks and rockstar lifestyle. Not all groupies were underaged girls.

Something twisted in Norrington's gut, and surprisingly, he didn't think it was disgust. It was more like... He had no qualms in roughly pulling the youth off Sparrow. Looking anywhere but at the guitarist, he heard himself speak in a tone flat and deliberate.

"We're leaving."

"Is this your boyfriend?" The youth asked, swiftly attending to his state of half-undress."I didn't know, man." This to Norrington, touched with a tad of nervousness.

He must have seen the holstered gun underneath the jacket. Norrington just smiled thinly. From the corner of his eye, he could see Sparrow dressing at a more leisurely pace, apparently not the least disturbed at having his tryst interrupted. But, after the youth had backed away, leaving them alone, Sparrow spoke, voice dangerously soft.

"What the hell was that about? The next time - "

"Barbossa's playing poker with Turner," he snapped.

Sparrow beat him to the door.

**Chapter 11**

The poker party was found in a small room, little more than a supermodel's closet. It seemed to have come down between Turner and Barbossa, and despite the youth's brave front, he was clearly losing. Either side was literally backed by their entourages. Upon entering the room, Sparrow made his grand entrance with a door bang, catching everyone's attention the way he wanted.

He smirked and waved Turner out of his seat to take it. This was only with some reluctance from the suddenly petulant boy. Underneath that facade, Norrington knew the boy felt guilty as hell for betting what he had. He took a stand behind Sparrow, Lizzy having yanked Turner to sit with her in a corner.

"Well, well, come to take the boy's place?"

"It's my right as his Captain," said Sparrow.

"Indeed." Barbossa smirked. "But, are you out to win what he lost? ...Or what you did? Too bad Bootstrap's not here to talk some sense into either of you. He was always the more level-headed one."

Sparrow remarkably didn't rise to the bait.

"Deal."

"What are we betting then?"

"The medallion and his performance."

"That's high stakes...and in turn?"

"Mine."

Barbossa's laugh was edged with something ugly, but he said nothing, just started to deal the cards.

"I think I'll do that," Norrington intervened.

Both musicians looked up at him in surprise.

"What? Don't trust me?" His smile nonchalant.

Another laugh from Barbossa.

"Fine with me,_ Detective_. Let's make it all nice and legal."

Sparrow just nodded curtly.

The first round of cards were dealt. Despite the casual posture of either cardplayer, the tension from their companions was enough to suffice. It was almost distracting, but the three at the table seemed unaffected. Norrington came to deal the last round. This time it was all or nothing. Sparrow had been caught bluffing more than once, and things didn't look too good. Those dark, kohl-edged eyes looked at him that moment.

_Trust me._

He dealt.

"Straight flush," Barbossa's smile was wolfish.

The high cards reached ten, sparkling diamonds.

Sparrow's face visibly fell. The other guitarist started to reach for the medallion at the center of the table, but Norrington caught his hand.

"Show your cards, Sparrow," he said quietly.

"Disappointed you think so li'l of ol' Jack. Don't want him around, do you?" Said Sparrow. "Well, I'm rather fond of myself - royal all decked out in pirate booty."

His grin was literally blinding gold.

Barbossa's hands clenched at the table edge, knuckles turning white. But, his face remained expressionless, eyes cold and dead.

"I'll see you at the competition, Sparrow. Me and the Pearl."

His sudden smile was pure malice. Norrington saw beneath Sparrow's mask, and knew how it affected him. So, he took a gamble for the man.

"The Pearl for his playing."

"Excuse me, Detective?" Barbossa eyed him warily.

"If you win the contest, he stops playing for good."

"And if he does, he gets the Pearl back?"

"Exactly. ...Are you good enough?" Norrington taunted.

"Never let it be said that _Captain _Barbossa would turn down a dare. I'm game, Sparrow. You?"

The other guitarist just nodded. He said nothing even after Barbossa and his party had left the room.

"What the hell was that about?"

_Deja vu._ Norrington smiled.

"Motivation."

When they'd returned to the hotel, everyone headed for bed. The sky was already tinged a rosy orange pink outside. But, Sparrow headed for the drinks pantry and started to poke through its contents. Norrington calmly pulled away the protesting guitarist and steered the man towards his bedroom.

"I just want a shot or two!"

"Bed, Sparrow."

"That an invitation?" A leer.

Norrington stiffened but didn't stop his momentum in prodding the man along.

"What about a deciding game of cards. You and me?"

"For what?" The man asked with reason to be wary.

"My sleep, your drinking with me."

Norrington sighed, rolling his eyes.

"Fine. But, I'll deal."

"Deal." Sparrow beamed.

After Norrington had done so, the guitarist sputtered in protest.

"That's all wrong."

"Never said what game we'd play. High card. Pick yours up, Sparrow."

"Jack!"

"Ace."

"You cheated!"

"Are you accusing a man of the law - "

"_Former_ man of the law!"

"Man of the law of cheating, Sparrow?"

"Hell, yeah!"

"Off to bed."

Sparrow actually pouted.

"Yes, _Mother_."

Then, he kissed Norrington.

"Night." He called out cheekily as he waltzed out of the room.

Norrington just looked after him in shock.

**Chapter 12**

Norrington moved away from the wings as Barbossa and the _Buccaneers_ finished their set. He didn't want to stick around for them to come off-stage, so he retreated to the backrooms. _Ocean-Thief_ was already on the move towards him. Sparrow's lips were twisted in parody of a smile, and eyes not quite there.

"You ready?" He asked, a tad concerned.

He couldn't explain the sudden rush as those dark orbs focused on him.

"Kiss for luck, luv?" A real smile now.

An arched brow from him, composure returned, Sparrow's laugh in reply.

Then, Barbossa was there, and laughing eyes turned jagged-sharp, lips curled, ready to say something taunting. But, Norrington was there, grabbing him by the wrist and pushing him towards the stage, the others following his lead.

"Got himself a keeper, hn?"

Norrington just gave the other man a withering smile.

"Is this the guitar, sir?"

"That would be correct."

"This is mine," Barbossa snapped, pulling the instrument away from the newcomer.

"Not if you lose," the contest representative said, not the least bit intimidated.

"What do you mean?"

"The deal," Norrington said coolly. "The sponsors got wind of it and thought it would be great promotion."

Lizzy smirked from behind him, fingering her returned medallion, a grin to match the skull on its surface.

Barbossa's bodyguard started to move forward, but Norrington raised a warning hand.

"I wouldn't if I were you."

The representative chose that moment to slip off.

"You're a careful man, Detective."

"I like to be sure."

"And you're sure about _him_?"

"It's all strictly business."

Barbossa's laugh was edged with something akin to regret.

"With Sparrow, it's never just business. Trust me on that."

Before Norrington could reply, the man was gone.

"What was that about?" Lizzy asked at his elbow.

The crowd roared at that moment, but he had no answer anyway.

He was still thinking on it long after - everyone partying, Pearl's strings singing, and Sparrow's eyes burning into his back while the night wind blew in his face.


End file.
